


Boulevard Of Broken Dreams

by trollkin



Category: Hackbent - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Kismesissitude, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollkin/pseuds/trollkin
Summary: Morson is sad and alone, listening to emo music.





	Boulevard Of Broken Dreams

He clenched his fists and released them again, feeling lost, and reluctantly sat down on the grubcouch. His gaze wandered over his pinwall and all the markings, the endless possibilities that all lead to nothing.  
He'd abandoned his old home and took a room in one of the skyscrapers on LOSAR. The view was nice, but like he cared about that. It was a place away from his ould house with his old memories, and he had taken refuge here after Cyrill's death, knowing that Alleph couldn't find him unless he searched every single building. It wasn't that he thought Alleph would come looking for him to blow out his lights, but Morson preferred to be safe (and isolated).  
He reached toward his desk and turned on the music. It was on shuffle and started playing Boulevard Of Broken Dreams by Troll!Green Day.

_I walk a lonely road_   
_The only one that I have ever known_   
_Don't know where it goes_   
_But it's only me, and I walk alone_

Nostalgia hit him in the face like a punch. He found his mind wandering back to the time before the game... those had been simpler times. Good times. Had they been good times? They didn't seem like good times to him back then, he used to stay up at night worrying that he might hurt one of his friends again, especially Cyrill, with his uncontrollable lightning powers.  
Tealbloods and their need to blow problems out of proportion, he mused to himself.  
At least he'd had friends to worry about.  
He let out a sigh, unintentional, unnoticed.  
They were all dead now.  
Even Alleph.

_I walk this empty street_   
_On the boulevard of broken dreams_   
_Where the city sleeps_   
_And I'm the only one, and I walk alone_

He'd found out this morning, his body had been floating on the open sea of LOSAT, like a log shaking in the waters. He hadn't gone closer, he didn't know what the cause of his death was  
and he didn't want to know.  
Like it wasn't obviously suicide.  
Something started hurting inside of his chest and he cursed himself for his attachment to the royalblooded fool.

_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me_   
_My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating_

They used to spend time together, before... that. Before he made Cyrill kill all his friends and then herself.  
His eyes wandered to the ceiling as he leaned back and remembered.  
They'd spent a night together. Their bickering and fighting had gone farther than usual and suddenly they were on top of each other. He mentally skipped that part, it was a bit embarrassing to think about his first time having been a pitch thing. Then they'd fallen asleep in Morson's old room, in the recuperacoon, Allephs arms wrapped around him. He'd liked it. The closeness. Knowing that someone admired him, even through his worst flaws, and nobody knew them like Alleph did.  
He'd woken up first in the morning, he'd untangled himself from the hug and left through the front door without looking back. He'd fled from closeness, like a coward.

_Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me_   
_Till then I walk alone_

Morson quit leaning back.  
He rested his arms on his knees, then his head in his hands. There was something hollow expanding inside of him, and he wanted to cry. After blinking a few times he realized that he couldn't. It just wasn't there. He was already too empty for tears. Angrily he stared at the bandages covering his forearms, blaming the habit he had picked up.  
It was making him emotionally numb, yet he couldn't stop. He asked himself what good the bandages even were, covering it did nothing. He remembered it by only looking at them anyways. So he tore them off.  
It was a mistake.

_I'm walking down the line_   
_That divides me somewhere in my mind_   
_On the border line of the edge_   
_And where I walk alone_

The turquoise cuts on his wrists stared at him in vivid color, and he felt the urge bubbling up inside of him. There were twelve on his left arm, and seven on the right arm. Most were covered in scabs, but a few were teal and shining where he'd picked it off.  
He felt the need to continue what he had started. To draw more and more lines onto his skin until it all turned into a bloody mess. To go deeper with every cut until he managed to make a wound that wouldn't heal.  
With shaky hands, he reached into his Sylladex.

_Read between the lines_   
_What's fucked up and every thing's all right_   
_Check my vital signs to know I'm still alive_   
_And I walk alone_

He watched as a turquoise drop accumulated and started to make its way down the curve of his hand. It fell onto his god tier outfit and stained the red fabric. Ah, shit. He tried to soak it up with the bandages, but the stain had already tainted the garment. He sighed and got up. Turned around, and saw the pinwall looming on the wall.  
It was time to keep going.


End file.
